Two to Tango
by Alaskan Air
Summary: Italy can't come to tell Monica his feelings. No tango involved, just dancing. Caution: Italy is overly OOC for this story and I apologize for that! Please forgive me! OOC Italy x OC, Monica. T for language and some... well... hinting.
1. Chapter 1

Two to tango- Italy one shot

**Warning, in my opinion, I accidentally turned Italy extremely OOC! (But honestly, Italy's personality wouldn't work with the story the way it is.) My love for Harry Lloyd also seeped into this story, I apologize for that. ^^; Also I tried writing an intense make out scene at the end (it's really only the second or third I've done) so try not to laugh at it. Please enjoy "Two to Tango".**

Monica was walking through the market, carrying the books she was borrowing from England. Her long chestnut hair was pulled up into a large clip and for the most part held together by bobby pins. Monica needed to make sure her ghostly pale skin didn't get burnt under the warm summer sun, so she carried a parasol while walking the cobblestone street. She had bright hazel eyes that always seemed to be smiling. When she spoke with you, you would always feel like the most important person in the world to her. She had many friends too. Her happy go lucky, sweet, and accepting nature allowed her to get along with mostly anyone, even the power hungry Prussia. She didn't care about someone's past, only their present, allowing her to become great friends with Germany. Her good listening ear allowed her to become fast friends with the loud America. And her thoughtfulness and good manners meant England and Japan always enjoyed her company. Overall, every country she knew was considered a friend.

But every country thought she was crazy when she moved in with France. She tried to reassure them she would be fine and eventually they gave up. So there Monica was, strolling down Paris's cobblestone streets, walking back to France's home, greeting those she passed.

"Monica! Wait up ve!" Northern Italy called. Monica turned around to find one of her closest friends, Italy, running up to her. She smiled and waved.

"Hello Italy!" she exclaimed when he reached her. He ran directly into her, giving her a hug. She happily returned the hug, but realized something was wrong when he wouldn't let go. "Italy? What's wrong, sweetie?"

"I… I… I…" he stuttered. He loosened his grip on her to allow himself to look into her eyes. Monica was very concerned at this point. "I just wanted to say hello." He gave her a weak smile.

"Bull. Now tell me what's wrong," she replied sternly. Italy knew he could trust Monica, but didn't know how to tell her.

"Nothing's wrong!" Italy reassured with a smile. Monica gave him a skeptical look. He playfully mimicked her glance, causing her to laugh.

"Okay, okay, I can take a hint. If you want to tell me, then you can," Monica replied. Italy assured her he would.

"Where did you get that book?" he asked, referring to the light brown and gold book. She looked down, as if she was surprised to hear that a book was in her hands.

"Oh this? It's one of Iggy's books. He's letting me borrow it," Monica explained. Italy lifted the book up to see the title on the spine.

"_David Copperfield_ by Charles Dickens," he read aloud. "Mona, why do you always read such depressing books? After all of this Charles Dickens stuff, I'm surprised you're still so happy go lucky," Italy chuckled.

"Well, reading depressing books makes me realize how fortunate I am to have the life and friends that I do! Besides, I watched the 1999 movie and I felt like I should read the book," she shrugged.

"That doesn't seem like your kind of movie," Italy commented.

"Well, it had Daniel Radcliff when he was still adorable and young Harry Lloyd in the cast, so I felt almost obligated to watch it. I just wish I could go back in time and pinch their cheeks!" Monica squealed. If Italy knew anything, it was that if Monica loved two things in this world, it was French bread, and Harry Lloyd.

"You're such a fan girl!" Italy said, messing Monica's hair up a bit. "I almost feel like you don't love me as much as Harry."

"Oh don't play that game! You know I love you!" Monica smiled. "Anyway, I have to leave. I need to help France with last minute details for tonight. I'll see you there, right?" Monica asked, walking away.

"Of course! Save a dance for me?" Italy called back.

"Always!" Monica called, taking off in France's house's direction. Italy sighed; he blew it. He was going to tell her, but he couldn't. Not even France's counseling helped. Italy walked back in the direction of his hotel to get changed for tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

Music sounded throughout the large ball room. Half of the room was outdoors on a balcony with the perfect view of the Eiffel tower. Italy entered the hall of dancers and scanned the dark room. He was dressed in black pants, shoes and a white top with a tie that was a passionate red. He joined Germany, his closest friend, by the refreshments.

"Hello Italy!" Germany greeted. Italy smiled and gave an enthusiastic greeting in return to his friend. He soon spotted Monica dancing with Russia on the dance floor in a strapless dress a bit ruffled at the bottom that had a slit for her right leg the same passionate red as his tie with a red rose in her hair. _France probably gave that to her_. He thought. Other than that, she looked beautiful. He noticed unlike the other girls, she wasn't wearing two inch or + heals, though she considered herself pretty short. If she did, she'd most likely be taller than him. Three inches between the two didn't really leave much room for heals if he wanted to be the taller one.

"Italy? Are you paying attention?" Germany asked, snapping Italy back to the conversation. "You were eyeing Monica, weren't you?" Italy nodded. "She does look beautiful tonight. I'm thinking I'll grab her for the next dance. After that, she's all yours."

"She promised to save a dance for me," Italy said.

"Then why haven't you told her?" Germany asked. Italy gave him a look as if he didn't know what Germany was talking about. "Don't even pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about. Anyway, while I'm dancing with her, I'll talk you up. Maybe that'll give you time to pull yourself together." Germany gave Italy a pat on the back and went over to Monica as the music ended. He bowed a bit, extending his hand, which she curtsied giggling in response and took his hand.

"You're such a gentleman Germany!" she giggled as they began dancing.

"Thank you Monica," he replied. "So, I've been talking to Italy, and he seems a bit, down. Do you know what's wrong?"

"It's funny you mentioned that. I've noticed that today actually. He ran up to me and gave me a hug, but wouldn't let go. And he started stammering when I asked what was wrong. Do you know?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

"I have an idea," Germany said. "It's girl problems."

"Oooooooh. Well, if you can, please help him. I don't like seeing him this down. It's scary to think Italy isn't happy for once," Monica commented. Germany nodded.

"I think if you dance with him, it'll take his mind off of it," Germany suggested.

The song ended, but before Italy could step in, England took her hand and asked for a dance, which she accepted. Germany walked back over to Italy.

"She's worried about you and asked me to see if I could help you in any way. I told her it was girl problems," he reported.

"Why did you tell her that?" Italy exclaimed.

"It's the truth! Would you rather have me lie?" Germany asked. Italy calmed down at this.

"She promised you a dance and if I know anything about Monica, it's that she always keeps her promises," Germany said.

"It doesn't mean anything. She'll promise every country a dance if they ask. She's dancing with Iggy right now and if I'm guessing correctly, she's saying something to get close enough to him to get closer to her precious Harry," Italy spat. Germany was getting very worried about Italy. He never was this upset about anything before.

"You do realize you're probably the only person she promised a dance to, right? Monica never promises dances to anyone. It's always 'I'll try my best' and 'No promises' or 'Ask me there because I'll forget'. What did she say when you asked her?" Germany asked.

"She said 'Always'," Italy replied.

"That means you have a special place in her eyes. Just relax and see if you can get to her before America, it looks like he's getting ready to make his move," Germany pointed out. Italy glanced over at America, seeing him eye her. If there were any two people who posed a threat, it was Harry Lloyd and America. She was originally from America, so the two were very close. The song was just about to end, so Italy started making his way over to her. "Go get her," Germany called. The song ended and Italy was right there to ask her. He was blushing like mad and prayed she wouldn't notice. The moonlight made her look even more radiant than ever.

"Monica?" Italy asked, unsure of him self. Monica turned to face him. She smiled a wide smile.

"Ah! Italy! Just the person I was looking for," she greeted. He couldn't help but smile at her.

"Would you give me the honor of dancing with me?" Italy asked, timidly, extending his hand. Monica looked a bit concerned.

"Of course," she said with a sweet smile. A slower song began to play and the two took position. Italy took her hand in his as he placed the other on her waist. She put her hand on his shoulder and gave his other hand a reassuring squeeze. "Italy, why are you shaking?" she asked as they moved slowly across the moonlit balcony along with Austria, Hungary, Ukraine, Sweden, Russia, and Belarus, as well as others.

"I'm sorry. I'm just a bit nervous," Italy confessed.

"Girl problems? Germany told me. Don't worry. She'd be a fool not to love you," Monica replied with a sweet smile. "I love this song. I think it's one of the most romantic piano pieces ever written."

"Really? I don't recognize it," Italy said, his nerves slowly settling.

"It's _The River Flows in You_ by Yiruma. I absolutely adore his music. It's rather calming. Him and Celtic Women. I just think their music is absolutely gorgeous," she replied.

"It is rather beautiful. Just like you," Italy commented without even thinking. He turned a deep red as soon as the words left his mouth. Monica blushed a faded pink, only adding to her beauty.

"Why, thank you Feliciano," she said. He had never heard her call him by his first name before, but loved how she said it. "This girl, can you tell me about her?"

"Of course," Italy replied. He had to think about his phrasing with this one. "She's funny, smart, kind, loyal, honest, and just amazing. When she talks to you, you just feel like you're the most important person in her life and that the conversation that you have with her is the greatest thing. She loves to read and she always keeps her promises. And she's the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on." He realized he probably said too much, but Monica didn't seem to catch it was her. Why were the people you love always oblivious to it until you tell them those three words?

"She sounds amazing," Monica replied, seeming a bit sad or disappointed. The song ended and she gave him a sad smile.

"Thank you for the dance," Italy said. She managed a smile.

"Any time." She looked as if she was about to cry.

"Monica, are you alright?" Italy asked, cupping her face with a hand. She put her hand on his.

"Not really. It's just guy problems. Don't worry yourself about it," she replied. Both smiled at the mention of "guy problems".

"Hey there, Monica! Do ya wanna dance?" America asked. She turned to him and smiled.

"I'm sorry America. My feet are killing me. Can we take the next song?" she asked. He naturally agreed. She turned to Italy and excused herself, then walked off in the direction of the bathroom. What Italy didn't know was that she was crying.

Monica made it out of the ball room before she let the tears overflow. She leaned up against the wall, sliding down into a sitting position and cried. Hungary walked out of the restroom down the hall and saw her crying. She instinctively ran over.

"Monica? What's wrong?" Hungary asked.

"Guy problems," she sobbed. Hungary put an arm around her to try and comfort her.

"What happened sweetie? The last time I checked, you were dancing happily with Italy!" Hungary exclaimed.

"She just sounds so f***ing perfect for him!" Monica cried. Hungary knew exactly what happened through that phrase.

"Aw sweetie, why did you ask?" Hungary asked.

"I thought maybe, just maybe, he would describe me, or tell me it was me. But it didn't sound like he was describing me. He was probably describing some Italian or French girl he met." Monica couldn't stop the tears from flowing no matter how hard she tried. Hungry felt so helpless.

"We need to get your mind off of this. Let's go into the bathroom, clean you up, and then find a different guy to dance the night away with, okay?" Hungary suggested. Monica nodded, tears slowing down.

"America asked me to dance before I came out here," she said. Hungary stood up and then helped Monica up.

"Ooh! You and America. That'll have to cheer you up. After all, you two get along so well, only god knows how," she encouraged. Germany then left the ball room for some fresh air and saw Monica.

"Oh god, what happened?" he asked approaching the two. Monica smiled at him while Hungary looked a bit more panicked.

"Guy problems," she replied. "Just please, don't tell anyone you saw me out here crying. I don't want to spoil the party or be the talk of the night." Germany agreed, though a bit confused. "You can't even tell Italy. Promise me you won't tell Italy."

"I promise," Germany said. Monica gave him one last sorry smile before being hustled off into the restroom by Hungary.

The rest of the night went on without a hitch. Monica seemed very happy the rest of the night, but that warm smile of hers seemed hollow, or at least felt that way to her. Italy danced with a few other girls, but always looked over at Monica when they weren't paying attention. He realized that he probably needed a girl's opinion on what he should do. Italy ended up dumping all of this on Ukraine when he asked. She gave him some advice, but it wouldn't help him tonight. Monica seemed to be dancing with everyone who asked her, and they were always back to back. Rumors spread that she was crying earlier in the night, but those didn't survive long (with the help of Hungary).

In the end Italy returned to his hotel room, discouraged and frustrated at himself and flopped down on the neatly made bed. He couldn't even tell how long he had been staring at the ceiling before a knock at the door came. When he didn't answer, the knock came again. He got up and walked over to the door, not even checking who it was at the peep hole. He opened up the door to Monica, heals in hand, neither her mouth nor eyes were smiling for the first time.

"Listen, I have no idea who this girl is and frankly I already hate her. I mean, she sounds amazing for you and all, but I still hate her. She's making you feel down and you're acting very un-Italy-like lately and I hate her for that. But most importantly I hate her because she's taken you away from me and the fact is…" Monica began, choking on those cursed three words. It looked like she was in pain to anyone else.

"Monica, are you alright?" Italy asked. She nodded her head. She was shaking like a leaf, but she finally got some version of those words out.

"Te amo Feliciano. An-" was all Monica could get out before Italy pressed his lips on hers. She was too stunned to react.

"You really talk way too much for your own good sometimes," he said. She gave him a confused glance and violent hand gestures, but her eyes seemed to smile again.

"Whoa there man, what the hell just happened?" Monica exclaimed. Only when she was really surprised or angry did her distinct relation to America show.

"You were about to go on and on and I shut you up the nicest way possible," Italy explained indifferently. "Oh and by the way, since when do you know Italian?"

"I passed your brother on the way here and asked him," Monica replied. "But that's not the point! What about that girl you were talking about?" Italy gave her an encouraging look. "Oh! It was me?" Italy nodded and Monica began to laugh. "Why couldn't you have just told me?"

"I was too nervous. You felt how much I was shaking. I was worried you wouldn't feel the same and out friendship would go down the drain," Italy confessed with a laugh.

"Ditto for me! And to think, I always thought you'd get enough courage to tell me first," Monica replied. The two laughed as Italy pulled Monica closer by the waist.

"Ti amo troppo il mio amour," Italy whispered, resting his forehead against her's.

"I have no idea what that means, but I think I can guess," she admitted, pressing her lips on Italy's. He backed her up slowly, trying not to break the kiss, and closed the door. He lifted her gently on the table and slowly slipped his tongue past her lips. She scrunched his hair in her hands and accidentally caught his curl. He whimpered a bit and he could feel her smile evilly. She took his curl and twirled it in her fingers, making him moan even louder. He broke apart from her and looked into her eyes.

"Looks like I found out what that's for," she said with the same smile. He attacked her lips again, this time finding a way to make her moan. He had to move quickly if he was going to find it before his knees buckled from the special attention that she was giving his curl. He moved his lips down to her neck and instantly she gasped. Bingo. She moaned loudly as Italy bit and sucked at that spot.

"Look at that, Monica has a soft spot," he chuckled against her skin.

"Shut up!" Monica said between moans.

"Oh be nice," Italy replied. There was a knock at the door before Romano entered. Both Monica and Italy froze.

"The hell?" he exclaimed. Everyone went red.

"My place later tonight," Monica whispered, Italy nodded slightly, still staring at his brother. Monica got off the table, grabbed her shoes, and left.

"Good morning Monica! Did you have a good sleep?" France greeted in the kitchen. Monica let out a defeated sigh, knowing she couldn't get past France.

"Hi France! I slept well," she said, entering the room.

"How about you, Italy? How did you sleep?" France asked with a smirk. Italy was caught too and entered the kitchen.

"I slept well thanks," Italy replied.

"Really? Both of you slept well? Funny, it didn't sound like it."


End file.
